The Crown of Dalemark (The Dalemark Quartet 4)

“There’s still quite a heap of bread and grapes left,” Kialan said as he arrived at the horses with an armload for the hearthwomen.

“As if they might be expecting more people,” Ynen said, following Kialan with his arms clutched round loaves and grapes dangling from his fingers. “I got these for us.”

Mitt wondered about this as they went to eat in the central hollow. What did the Undying think was going to happen? He had a sense that this was a lull before things got frantic. And once things got frantic, he knew they would go on that way for quite some time.

Before Mitt could mention this feeling to the others, Navis arrived with Alk and Luthan. “There,” Navis said. “That should stop anyone interfering while we look for the crown. Has anyone any idea where it is?”

Everyone shook their heads. Wend would know, Maewen thought. Oh, bother the man!

Luthan broke apart a loaf. “They say,” he said, “that the crown is buried in the ruins of King Hern’s palace. You may be sitting on it,” he added, with a melting smile at Maewen.

“Then it’s going to take digging to find,” Alk said, sitting on the slope with a loaf in each hand.

“Long, careful digging,” Kialan agreed. “They took six weeks’ digging to find the second spellcoat up above Hannart.”

“I doubt,” said Navis, “that we have six hours.”

“Then we think it round another way,” said Alk.

Moril arrived then, with his vaguest look, and was introduced to Ynen. Ynen was delighted. It turned out that he had met Moril’s brother, Dagner, in Hannart, who had told him a great deal about Moril. The two of them chattered as they ate. They were the only ones talking. Everyone else was wondering how to find the crown, except Luthan, who kept giving Maewen such melting looks that she wanted to tell him to start digging. But he won’t, she thought. It would spoil his scarlet suit.

“This won’t do,” Mitt said at last.

“No,” Kialan agreed. He nudged Moril with his boot. “Moril, do the Singers have any sayings that might help us find the crown?”

Moril looked up. His face was full of a kind of nervous awe. “You want to go and get it now?”

Everyone stared at him.

“I’ve been walking around,” he said, “trying to work it out. I think the cwidder will do it. We have to go to the waystone.”

Everyone sprang up. “Why didn’t you say?” Ynen cried out.

“I second that,” said Navis.

“Leave him be,” Kialan said, as they all raced down the hummock. “He’s like that. One of us should have asked him before.”

They raced past the hobbled horses, where the hearthwomen were fixing bayonets to long guns. Mitt knew how they felt. Every one of the women was trying to pretend this was just a training exercise, and very much hoping that was all it would turn out to be. As they ran on, more hearthmen sprang up alertly from among the green humps and then subsided, seeing they were not being attacked. Further heads reared up from across the green road and disappeared, as the eight of them gathered round the waystone.

“What do we do?” said Kialan.

“Go through,” said Moril. “I think.” He knelt down and carefully put his face to the impossibly small hole in the middle of the waystone.

“Look any different through there, does it?” Mitt asked hopefully.

“No,” Moril said, crawling away backward. He slung the cwidder round to the front of him and stripped off its cover, thinking hard.

“I don’t wish to cast a blight, la

d,” said Alk, “but not even young Ynen is going to get through there.”

Moril frowned. “I know. I wish I could think how—”

“Wait a minute,” Maewen interrupted.

As she spoke, there was a yell and a splatter of gunfire from the mounds over to the right. Here comes the frantic bit, Mitt thought.

“Uh-oh,” said Alk.